


Dudley Weasley

by ScholarlyQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Dudley Dursley was Adopted by Other(s), Gen, Harry Potter was Adopted by Other(s), Hurt/Comfort, Redeemed Dudley Dursley, Sibling Rivalry, Slow Build, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-03-05 07:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScholarlyQuill/pseuds/ScholarlyQuill
Summary: "The Mad Man" broke into to Privet Drive inflicting terror and tragity on young Harry and Dudley. They are sweeped into the magical world and placed into seperate foster homes. Dumbledore decided that it would be best to give Dudley to a couple with an understanding of muggle culture, an affinity for children, and ties to the most powerful underground organization in the magical world.So Dudley is fostered by the Weasley's. Will he fit in with this family so different than his own? Will he want to?Explores themes of grief, family, and forgiveness. Archive Warning: Major Character Death in first chapter only. Family relationships. Nothing romantic here. Just family fluffiness in later chapters.





	1. The Intruder

Summer came early to the house of Number 4 Privet Drive and was quickly on track to become one of the hottest summers on record. The second week of July set another record breaking heat wave, forcing the children of Number 4 Privet Drive to be stuck inside yet again.

Dudley Dursley, a large, blond, pig faced boy recruited his younger cousin to play on his new gaming consul Dudley got for his eighth birthday a few days earlier. Dudley’s parent, Vernon and Petunia, had set up a spare TV in the guestroom so Dudley could play his game and the main TV was free for their news programs. Since then, Dudley slowly started moving some of his other toys into the spare guest room. Dudley and Harry sat on the bed, surrounded by neglected toys, untouched books, and an empty hamster cage, watching the monitor intensely.

Harry Potter, Dudley’s cousin, was quite the opposite of Dudley. He was skinny, dark hair with taped-up glasses, and hardly anyone would know that they shared a set of grandparents. The only resemblance they shared was in their little toe. Since Dudley was twice Harry’s weight, that resemblance quickly diminished too.

Dudley instructed Harry to take the second controller. The red button was already smashed in and the joystick would occasionally get stuck so his character would end up running in the same direction. Harry didn’t mind. Harry rarely got to play video games and as long as he let Dudley win, he would escape unscathed. Dudley had a bad reputation for being a sore loser. Giving Harry a black eye just meant Dudley was evening the score.

After Dudley’s fifth consecutive win, he still punched Harry in the arm.

“You’re not trying hard enough!” complained Dudley, selecting his new character. “I’ll never beat Peirce if you don’t start playing better.”

“Then give me your controller,” said Harry, rubbing his arm. “If you can beat me with a broken controller, they you will definitely beat Peirce.” Dudley shoved Harry off the bed in response. Dudley selected his character and waiting for Harry.

A loud clatter rang through the house, followed by shouts and yelling. The cousins looked at each other. Vernon and Petunia never yelled at each other. They yelled at Harry, yes, all the time. It was an Olympic sport in the Dursley house, but never had they fought with each other. Dudley launched himself to the door. Harry followed but only after he switched the controllers.

Harry reached the top of the staircase. Dudley had stopped half way down, his fat hands griped the banister, his knuckles white. Harry could see his Aunt Petunia, standing pale faced on the ground level. Both stared at a danger out of Harry’s view. Vernon erupted in screams of pain. Dudley jumped at the sudden sound.

Petunia’s frantic eyes darted up the stairs and met Harry’s. Harry’s heart raced as she gave a sharp shake of her head, warning him, willing him not to move. Vernon’s cries of pain stopped as abruptly as they started, replaced by labored gasps.

“I will ask again,” said a stern voice, as footsteps drew closer to Petunia. “Where is he?”

Petunia stood her ground as Dudley started shaking.

“Is this one yours?” asked the voice, Dudley retracted back to the wall behind him the same moment Petunia stepped forward.

“Not Dudley, please don’t,” Petunia begged, tears building in her eyes. She raised her arms to block the danger from reaching her son.

_Not Harry, please no-_

Harry’s gut tightened and a painful twinge erupted in his forehead. Was this a sort of déjà vu or a memory of a dream? But what dream? Why did this seam familiar?

“Tell me where the boy is!” shouted the intruder. Petunia remained silent.

Harry racked his brain. What happened next? What was the next part? His heart pounded in his chest. Something bad was about to happen. But what?

Harry watched as if in slow motion as a beam of light shot toward Dudley.

“No!” Petunia screamed and held up her hand. The moment her outstretched hand touched it, she holed in pain, crumpling to her knees. The intruder chuckled as Petunia looked terrified at her hand, now burned and blistered.

“You really are Lily’s sister,” he said before shouting something neither boy understood. Green light filled the house for an instant and Petunia fell unmoving to the ground.

“Mum?” whispered Dudley, breaking his silence and leaning forward towards his fallen mother. He snapped back towards the wall as a kettle collided with the front door.

“What did you do to my wife?!” bellowed Vernon. A frying pan bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor, missing the intruder by inches. The intruder charged after Vernon. A flurry of noise erupted from the kitchen. Pots and pans smashed against each other and glass shattered.

“Dudley! Run! I’ll hold him off!” shouted Vernon, as he threw a toaster about the house.

Dudley remained frozen on the stairs but Harry snapped to action. He darted down the stairs, roughly grabbed Dudley’s arm and rushed toward the front door. Harry had to shove Dudley out of the house as he was fixated on the sight his still mother. The boys looked back for an instant to see another blast of green light flood the kitchen. Vernon fell to the floor, a clean kitchen knife falling from his hand.

Harry slammed the door and grabbed Dudley’s hand again, pulling him forward.

“Come on, Dudley! We need to run!” Harry shouted, trying to get Dudley to move faster. Or any speed faster than their current one.

“But where are we going?” whined Dudley. “We need to call the police. We need to help Mum and Dad.”

Harry hadn’t thought of where they were going, just that they needed to get out of the house. They passed the corner of Privet Drive and turned down Rosemary Avenue. The first street light of the evening flickered on.

“Ms. Figg,” said Harry, thinking of the first person that came to mind. “She’ll know what to do. She can call for help.”

Harry thought hard about Ms. Figg, trying to force out what had just happened or who might be behind them. Harry was not sure how they arrived at Ms. Figg’s house so quickly, but it felt like it only took two steps for them to appear at her front door…. from five blocks away.

Harry wasted no time and pounded on the door. Only the meow of her cats answered. Harry knocked again. Dudley stared down the street they just crossed, waiting for the man to come around the corner.

“You’re doing it wrong. Move,” said Dudley, shoving Harry out of the way. His massive fists came down on the door, one after another, over and over again until Ms. Figg faint voice told them to hold their horses. It took an eternity for Ms. Figg to unlock her dead bolt, slide off the chain, and turn the nob. The smell of cats and stale fruit cake wafted out of the house.

“Harry, what a pleasant – wait, what’s wrong?” asked Ms. Figg, quickly glancing from one terrified face to another.

“There’s a man in our house,” said Harry, his tongue getting tied as he tried to explain as fast as possible. “He hurt Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and I think he’s following us. Please, you have to call the police.” Ms. Figg glanced down the darkening street before ushering them inside quickly.

“Tell me from the beginning, what happened?” Ms. Figg instructed, locking the doors once again.

“A man came into the house,” said Harry. “I didn’t see him, but Dudley did.”

Ms. Figg turned towards the pale, shaking Dudley. “Well boy, what did you see?” Dudley stared off into space, opening his mouth without any sound and then closing it again.

“Useless,” mumbled Ms. Figg. “What else, Harry? Did he have a gun? Did he say anything out of the ordinary?”

Harry thought back on the moment. The green lights. Aunt Petunia’s hand burning when she touched it. Would Ms. Figg even believe him? Uncle Vernon always told Harry that no one like a child with an imagination. But what other choice did he have?

“I didn’t see what kind of weapon he had,” Harry said slowly, picking his words carefully. “But it made different colored light. It responded to a vocal command, like in one of Dudley’s video games. He told it what to do and it did it.” Harry waited for a condescending look that never came. Instead, Ms. Figg grabbed both Harry and Dudley’s hands and led them into the dining room.

“Do either of you still believe in Santa Clause?” she asked, as she dropped Harry’s hand to open a silver box from the fireplace mantle. She had not released Dudley.

“No,” scoffed Dudley, finally out of his daze. “That stuff is for babies.”

“Shame. I was going to show you how he got around,” said Ms. Figg. She pulled a handful of glittering dust from the box and threw it into the fireplace. The empty fireplace roared to life with green flames. Dudley and Harry jumped back, but Ms. Figg grasped Harry’s hand again and dragged them into the fireplace.

 _This was a bad idea,_ thought Harry. _A very, very bad idea._

Ms. Figg with unknown strength finally dragged the screaming Dudley into the flames. She shouted, “McGonagall Cottage” and the world whipped out of view.

Dudley quickly changed his mind about being free and clutched Ms. Figg for dear life. He planted a terrified face into her floral skirt, pleading for it to stop.

Harry didn’t have enough eyes. He saw glimpses of other houses from the inside of their fire place. He ignored the nausea that grew in his stomach the faster they darted past the still frames of other peoples’ lives.

They abruptly skidded to a stop. Harry’s knees buckled under him and Dudley tumbled out onto the hearth. Flat on his back, Dudley stayed there dazed. He was only able to mutter, “We moved.”

“Well spotted,” said Ms. Figg, rolling her eyes and stepping over Dudley. “Minerva!” she shouted and walked out of the room.

Harry quickly rushed out of the fire place, unsure if it would light up again and take him someplace new. Once his knees stopped shaking, he saw that they were in a library. Dark wood paneling matched the ornate ceiling and floor. Books lined the walls floor to ceiling. A writing desk sat facing a large window overlooking a small-town nestled among the rolling hills.

 _We aren’t in Little Winching anymore,_ thought Harry.

Harry looked over the titles of the books but none of them he had heard of before. _Betty’s Bubbling Brew And You Can Too_ by Betty Irontin, _Transfigure Your Life with Three Easy Spells_ by Spellmen Sparks, _Animagi, Is It Right For You?_ By Boxer Browning. Harry pull a book called _Twenty Charms They Don’t Teach You At School_ by Martin Mamelukes when the door of the library burst open with a loud bang.

Dudley screamed, sitting up and pulling his legs to his chest. Harry dropped the book and stood up straight, trying not to look guilty. Ms. Figg entered with another woman, much taller and older than Ms. Figg. Her piercing eyes took in the scene of a panicked Dudley and a terrified Harry. Harry noticed her gaze resting on him longer than Dudley but she broke her stare.

“I know your wards are stronger than mine,” said Ms. Figg behind the woman. “I didn’t know where else to take them. I would take them to Dumbledore directly but my fireplace isn’t connected.”

“You did well, Arabella,” said the woman in a low voice, patting Ms. Figg softly on the shoulder. “I will alert Dumbledore and the others.” With a swish of her emerald cloak, the woman left the room.

“Ms. Figg,” said Harry, cautiously moving forward. “Who was that?”

Ms. Figg stepped forward gesturing the two boys to her side. “That was Minerva McGonagall. She is a dear friend of mine and will be able to protect you.”

“But what about the police?” snapped Dudley. “How will they catch the burglar? We have to go back!”

“Dudley, I know you won’t understand, but the police can’t help us. The man who attacked your family will continue to come after you and will not stop until you are found,” said Ms. Figg her deep brown eyes pleaded with him to grasp the concept. “For tonight, this is the safest place for you.”

Dudley’s cheeks puffed up and Harry knew he was in for a tantrum. “But I want to see my Mum and Dad.” He wailed as big crocodile tears rolled down his cheeks. Ms. Figg was at a loss for words.

Harry though back on the green blasts, and his scar prickled again. Unthinking he rubbed it, trying to make the pricking go away. Ms. Figgs eyes grew and Harry immediately stopped, stuffing his hands quickly in his pockets. Had he done something wrong?

The door to the library opened yet again and McGonagall walked up to them.

“I am so sorry, I failed to introduce myself. I am Professor McGonagall.” She reached out her hand to shake them in turn.

“Nice you meet you,” said Harry meekly. “I’m Harry Potter.”

“Dudley Dursley,” muttered Dudley, his eyes on the floor.

“I know you two are probably confused and scared but please know you are safe here,” said Professor McGonagall, her eyes jumping from one boy to the next. Dudley avoided her gaze but Harry nodded when she looked at him. “Why don’t we go to the kitchen. I’m sure I have some ice cream. You may have as much as you like.” She took their hands and led them through the house.

The library was just one of several large rooms that Harry could see from the hallway. Some of the picture frames lining the hallway were blank, as if the single toned, matted background was a form of modern art.

McGonagall finally pushed open a door to the kitchen. She took out two bowls, two spoons and a giant tub of ice cream, leaving them on the counter. She told them to help themselves as she excused herself to talk to Ms. Figg again.

“I don’t like her,” said Dudley, once she had left the room. Dudley sat on one of the bar stools next to the counter and Harry took the one next to him.

“Yet, you’re more than happy to eat her ice cream,” said Harry.

“It would be bad manners to turn down her offer,” snapped Dudley, helping himself to another large scoop. “What would Mum and Dad say if this McGeorge lady tells them we had bad manners?”

Harry didn’t touch the tub when Dudley was done. Something was wrong. And the adults weren’t telling them about it.

How had Harry known about the light? Why had he seen it before? He rubbed his scar, which was still stinging. He had seen the green light before, he remembered it from somewhere. But who was the woman’s voice he heard? His mom?

That made no scene, he told himself. His parents died in a car crash. How could she plead with anyone if it was in a car crash?  
But how did he know she was pleading with someone?

He knew he saw the flash of green light over and over again. With Aunt Petunia. And Uncle Vernon. And his parents.

His stomach tightened with the realization. The green light was there all three times. He wasn’t sure how he knew but he did, that his aunt and uncle were dead.  
And Dudley didn’t.

“Dudley,” Harry hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I don’t think we will be going home.”

“Whatcha mean?” asked Dudley, his cheeks full of ice cream.

“I – I don’t think Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon will be ok,” said Harry starring into his bowl, building up the courage to say what he thought. “I think that man killed them.”

Harry flew off the stool and clattered to the ground. Harry’s jaw throbbed where Dudley had hit him. Dudley remained in his spot, his fist clenched.

“You take that back!” Dudley snapped. “You take back what you said about my parents!”

Harry lay on the floor silently pleading for Dudley to understand. “Dudley, I – I think they’re dead.”

Dudley launched himself at Harry before he could scramble for cover. Dudley landed hard on Harry’s chest. Harry’s head bounced off the tile floor.

“You take it back!” roared Dudley. “You liar! Just because you don’t have parents doesn’t me I don’t either!” Dudley punched and kicked every inch of Harry he could reach. Harry tried to push Dudley off but he was too big. His glasses flew off his face in two different directions as the tape was no longer enough to keep them together through the abuse.

The punches slowed down and Dudley’s great heaving gasps turned to sobs. For a few moments there was stillness before Dudley pushed himself off Harry. Dudley, heartbroken and exhausted, sat on the floor curled his knees to his chin and buried his face. Harry waited a moment before cautiously sitting up. They sat silently next to each other. The ice cream sat melting and forgotten on the counter.

It was completely dark outside when McGonagall came back in. The boys looked up to her with swollen expressions. She knelt on the ground in front of them. Her face was composed and emotionless.

“Harry, Dudley, I know a lot has happened today, and I will try and explain it the best I can,” said McGonagall. “We don’t know for sure who attacked your family, but we have the Ministry and several talented individuals looking for him. Ms. Figg has gone into hiding. If the attacker knew that she helped you escape, she could be in danger too. Tomorrow, I will take you to the lead investigator who will take your statements about the attack. Hopefully they can find the man who did this.”

“My mum and dad,” Dudley chocked, with swollen eyes. “Are they dead?”

McGonagall’s eyes drained of resolve and replaced with pity. “I’m sorry but they were killed in the attack.” Dudley hid his face back into his knees. Harry watched Dudley shake with each sob. Harry’s eyes burned watching Dudley fall apart. While he didn’t like his family, he knew they didn’t deserve this.  
Harry turned to McGonagall. “What’s going to happen to us?”

McGonagall sighed. “You two will stay with me for tonight, maybe tomorrow as well.”

“But after that?” asked Harry, “Dudley has another Aunt but she doesn’t like me. She won’t want me.” Suddenly, his heart raced in new found panic, eyes large with fear. “Am I going to an orphanage?”

“No,” said McGonagall firmly, reaching out and patted his knee. “I will adopt you myself before I see you sent to some muggle orphanage.”

Harry had no idea what a muggle was, but he assumed it was one of those words that Uncle Vernon used about him, just not in front of him. But more importantly, this woman, who he had never met and knew nothing about, was risking herself to keep them safe. More importantly, she would continue to do so he wouldn’t be abandon. Harry felt some of the weight of fear and grief ease.

Nobody spoke to Dudley.


	2. Ministry

Once Dudley had calmed down and Harry felt sure enough to walk, McGonagall led them upstairs each to their own bedroom. Harry gasped at the large bed four corner bed and a set of pajamas that were already laid out for him.

“There must be some mistake,” said Harry. “Is this room mine?”

“Well what did you expect?” said McGonagall puzzled. “Did you think that I would have you sleep in a closet?” Harry flushed pink and started exploring the room. 

McGonagall watched as the boy hesitantly pulled back the curtains to reveal the town of Hogsmeade in the distance. The sprawling landscape stretched out in front of them and McGonagall wondered if this was Harry’s first time in the country. By his stupefied expression, she assumed it was. 

“Professor,” Harry started in a low voice. “How far are we from Little Whinging?”

“I can’t say for sure,” said McGonagall. She saw the boy’s shoulders tighten so she quickly added. “Far enough away for you to be safe.” Neither of them said a word as the sun drew closer to the horizon. 

Dudley reemerged from his bedroom with the sleep shirt tight across his chest. He huffed with the effort of moving against the constraining garment. 

“Don’t you have anything bigger? This shirt is too tight,” whined Dudley. McGonagall pulled the shirt off of him in a single fluid motion.

“I’ll see what I have,” she said and she strutted to the room at the end of the hall. She was barley gone a second when she was back. 

“That’s the same shirt,” complained Dudley.

“I beg to differ,” said McGonagall, pulling the shirt over his head. “See, it’s bigger.” And certainly, it was. The sleeves fell past his elbows and the bottom hem stopped well past his knees. Dudley sulked back to his room too exhausted to point out that it still didn’t fit right. 

Dudley lay awake, staring at the canopy above his bed. He tried to sleep but every sound snapped him awake. The whooping of owls startled him awake. Shadows hid an unknown horror. Every time Dudley closed his eyes and was about to drift off, the flash of green light with the image of his mother and father falling to the floor flashed in his mind. 

Dudley tried to think of something else, anything else, but the memories of that night replayed over and over again in his mind. At some point he must have fallen asleep because McGonagall was urging him to wake up. 

“Dursley, you need to wake up know,” she said, shaking his shoulder. “Harry is already down stairs eating breakfast.”

Dudley groaned. Since when did she use his last name but Harry’s first name?

“If you are incapable of getting ready yourself, you will just have to go out in your pajamas,” she said sternly. Dudley swung his legs over the side of the bed to show he was moving. McGonagall nodded and left. Dudley found his cloths from last night had been cleaned and folded at the foot of the bed. 

Dudley then realized all of his things were still at the house. What if the intruder took them? Or another burglar since they left without locking the door? Dudley would have nothing. He would have to ask someone to go get his things for him. 

Once downstairs he found Harry gorging himself on bacon, scones, fruit and a large glass of chocolate milk. Dudley took the chair next to Harry and took a piece of bacon from Harry’s plate. Harry, use to this, said nothing and ignored his cousin. Dudley, however, found the back end of a spoon colliding with his knuckles before the bacon even reached his mouth. 

“Hey! What was that for?” Dudley snapped. McGonagall, still brandishing the spoon pointed it at his nose. 

“There is no need for that,” she said. “More will be ready in a moment so you don’t need to steal from your cousin.” Dudley sulked in his chair and waited for his bacon to finish cooking. Harry tried to keep his smile hidden. Dudley saw and kicked him in the shins under the table. Harry didn’t even respond which made Dudley even more enraged. Whenever Dudley was bored or angry, he would just break Harry’s glasses for kicks. Now that he wanted to, Dudley noticed that Harry’s glasses were no longer held together with tape. They actually looked brand new. How come Harry got new things while he got nothing? Dudley stabbed at his eggs and ignored his bacon out of spite. Once the boys were fed, McGonagall sat in front of them. 

“Before we go to the Ministry to take your statements, there are some things we need to discuss first,” McGonagall said, her lips pursed. “First, you two are still in great danger. You will have an escort there and back again.”

“Are we going to use the fire place again?” asked Harry, his back straight and his eyes wide. 

“Yes, but as I was saying-”

“How does it work?” asked Harry. “There are no engines or electricity. How did we travel from Ms. Figg’s house to here?”

“It’s called Floo Powder and there is no electricity. But that leads me to my point-”

“But there needs to be a power source,” argued Dudley. “It doesn’t just work cause you want it to.” 

“You can if it’s magic,” said McGonagall. Dudley snorted. 

“There’s no such thing as magic,” said Dudley, crossing his arms. “Magic is for gullible people who have no scene of reality.”

“Did you learn that from your father?” asked McGonagall flatly. 

“Yes, I did,” said Dudley, sticking out his chin. 

McGonagall strained to keep her expression neutral. “You both have grown up in a very sheltered and very safe life up to this point but you will learn that the world is much bigger than you think. There are witches and wizards that live secretly among non-magical muggles. Harry,” she said turning to him. “Your parents were both very talented in magic and are still respected in our world. You may find that you may attract some attention.” Harry felt a balloon swell in his chest. 

“So,” said Harry. “Am I going to be a wizard?”

“There is very little doubt in my mind that one day you will be,” said McGonagall. McGonagall felt her heart melt as the child in front of her beamed in the spitting image of James.

Dudley snorted, interrupting the moment. “There is no way you can make me believe magic is real. This is all just a bunch of rubbish.”

“Fine. Believe what you will. But don’t gawk when we are at the Ministry. It’s unbecoming,” snapped McGonagall. A knock on the door prompted McGonagall to leave the kitchen and gestured for the boys to follow her. 

“Can you believe all this rubbish about magic?” Dudley said to Harry, soft enough to pretend he didn’t want McGonagall to hear. “What non-scene. We should never have been allowed us to stay with a nutter.”

Harry didn’t respond, his mind still reflecting on what McGonagall had said. His parents were respected. They were talented. McGonagall seemed to like them. This was a different version of his parents he grew up with. What else did he not know about them? 

McGonagall answered the door. Two men and a woman were quickly ushered into the main foyer. 

“These are your escorts. This is Sturgis Padmore,” said McGonagall gesturing to the oldest man, who wore a bright red robe with a gold clasp. He gave them a wide smile and they could see he was missing a front tooth. 

“Hestia Jones,” said McGonagall. The woman curtsied. The embroidered butterflies on her hat flapped when she turned her head. 

“And Dedalus Diggle,” said McGonagall. The broad-shouldered man in sky blue robes bend down and shook Harry’s hand. 

“What an honor it is to meet you, Mr. Potter,” Diggle said, beaming. “I just can’t believe my luck that I get to shake your hand. Thank you, just thank you.” 

“You’re welcome?” said Harry, giving Diggle a hesitant smile.

“Diggle,” McGonagall snapped. Diggle straighten up immediately. “Yes, this is Harry Potter and his cousin Dudley Dursley.”  
The group turned and finely saw Dudley despite the fact he was there the entire time. Jones and Diggle gave Dudley a polite hello while Padmore simply nodded.

“Are you even police men?” Dudley sneered looking them over.

The adults looked blankly at him and Jones whispered to Padmore, “What’s a police man?”

“Enough,” said McGonagall. “Padmore take point, Jones the rear, Diggle if you would take Dersley, I will take Potter.”

“I’m not going with him. Not till he proves he’s a police man,” Dudley challenged.

McGonagall rolled her eyes. “As I said last night, the police can’t help us. Diggle is part of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes so of all the people in this room, he is the most qualified to help you.” 

“I won’t!” persisted Dudley, stamping a heavy foot on the ground. Diggle looked at Jones and Padmore for support but they just shrugged and looked to McGonagall whose face redden by the second. 

“Fine. Diggle take Potter instead.” McGonagall snapped, grabbing Dudley’s hand before he could protest. She turned on him, her nose inches from his. “You will not cause a scene,” she warned in a low voice, her lips pursed thin. “You are in grave danger and we need to be as discreet as possible. You will already stand out because you are children so do not bring any more attention to yourself then needs to be.” 

Dudley responded with his most discontented look he could muster; he couldn’t be sure she could hear his heart racing. He took note that she failed to threaten Harry in the same way.

The group of them watched as Padmore took a handful of dust from a vase next to the fireplace, threw it into the fire, say “Ministry of Magic” and vanished into the green flames. 

Dudley, now having seen how it was done, still did not look forward to the rushing images and motion sickness. In spite of himself, he gripped McGonagall’s hand as tight as he could for fear of being separated and lost in the void of fireplaces. 

And when McGonagall practically dragged him out of the new fire place where they landed, Dudley could not mask his bewilderment. Men and woman, all dressed in outlandish costumes, muddled about, unfazed as other seemed to appear out of thin air. A new boy shouted headlines about people he had never heard of and sports teams he was sure didn’t exist. McGonagall tugged at his hand to lead the way. Dudley glanced behind him and saw Diggle answering all of Harry’s questions enthusiastically. Dudley kept his head down and watched the hem of Padmore’s red robe bob in and out of view through the crowd.

All the them crowded into a lift and McGonagall told the voice operated box that they needed the second floor. Instead of going up, the lift moved backwards catching him and Harry off guard.

“Watch yourself,” said Jones, catching Dudley on the shoulder. He shrugged her off and kept his knees slightly bent for the rest of the ride. The lift halted to a stop and the doors sprung open on their own accord. 

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” the voice in the lift chimed and they all piled out. Padmore and Jones stayed in the lift while Diggle and McGonagall lead the boys out. “I’ll alert you when we are done,” said McGonagall before the lift doors closed again. 

“Professor McGonagall,” a brown-haired woman approached their small group. “Pleasure to see you again, although I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Agreed,” said McGonagall. The two women shook hands. “Is Blaire ready for us? I would like to minimize admirers.”

“Yes, she is,” said the brown-haired woman. “Right this way.”

The ministry worker led them past several rows of cubical. Dudley saw that many had wanted posters where the images moved or maps covered in color changing push pins and string. Files floated above their heads and a worker would absent mindedly pluck them from the air. 

They were led to a large office room. Blaire was an older, grey haired, woman who sat behind a large oak desk. She took off her reading glasses and placed them on the file she was inspecting. A thin scar stretched under both her eyes and across the top of her nose. She watched them with heavy eyes and gestured for them to sit in the three chairs placed in front of her desk. The brown-haired woman that had escorted them sat herself at a large conference table at the back of the office behind them. McGonagall sat in the middle with one boy on either side of her. 

“Professor McGonagall, I assume you will be representing them as their guardian for the time being?” she asked. 

“I am,” McGonagall replied.

“Good, Diggle, you may go,” Blaire said without another look in his direction. Diggle shuffled out and closed the door behind him. 

“I am Christina Blaire, Head of the Magical Law Enforcement. That is Amelia Bones, my Deputy and second in command of this department.” The boys turned to see the brown-haired woman taking notes at the conference table behind them. Blaire opened a file, put her reading glasses low on her nose, and shuffled a few papers.

“Now, let us begin,” said Blaire. “I want each of you to explain what happened on the night of Wednesday July 13th, 1988.” Each boy took turns telling their part of the story. Reliving that bleak night brought forward all the fear, anxiety, and grief to the forefronts of their minds. Dudley felt his chest tighten the more he described the previous night’s account. Dudley felt his voice quiver when describing the man threaten him to get to his mother. 

“So you were able to see the intruder who….” said Blaire, the rest of the sentence left suspended. Everyone knew what she meant.

“Yes, I did,” Dudley said.

“Then Mr. Dursley, would you mind describing the attacker?” asked Blaire, pulling out a bright green quill from her desk. She dipped the end into an ink well and set the point onto a blank piece of parchment. Dudley stared as it stayed straight up even after she let go. 

“Um, he had blond hair but darker than mine and he was balding.” Dudley started but his eyes became fixed on the quill which started sketching the hair but stopped when Dudley stopped talking. 

“Mr. Dudley, please ignore the quill,” said Blaire. 

“The Mad Man,” said Dudley.

“The Mad Man?” asked Blaire, raising a feathery eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I mean, why else would you just break into someone’s house unless they are crazy? Only a man man would do that.”

“Why indeed,” said Blaire, sounding the least convinced. “Please continue with your discription.”

“The Mad Man had, um, big ears and…” said Dudley, trailing off again, mesmerized by the quill. 

“It might be more accurate if you close your eyes, focused on your memory and ignore what the quill is drawing,” suggested Blaire, suppressing an exasperated sigh. 

Dudley nodded and closed his eyes. Thinking of the face made his stomach turn. He took a deep breath and told Blaire what he remembered. “He was pale, really pale. He forehead was wrinkled. He had really tiny black eyes. He had buck teeth that kind of whistled. His nose was really pointed.”

“Good. What about his build? What was his body type?” asked Blaire.

“Um, he was kinda hunched and he was fat. Not like me. I’m well built. He’s belly just stuck out,” said Dudley.

“Was there anything else that could help distinguish him? Did he have any scars or tattoos?” asked Blaire. 

Dudley though back. “Not that I could see. He was wearing long sleeves and pants.”

“And Mr. Potter, did you see the intruder?” asked Blaire, turning her attention to the other child. 

“He hid upstairs like a coward,” snapped Dudley. Harry looked at his hands that were fidgeting in his lap. Blaire and McGonagall exchanged a look that said ‘fat chance’.

“Mr. Potter, maybe you can tell me how you two were able to escape,” said Blaire setting the sketch aside. 

“I, um,” said Harry softly. He shifted in his seat. His gaze stayed planted on the floor. “I don’t know. We were running down Privet Drive. Dudley asked where we were going and the first place I thought of was Ms. Figg’s house.”

“And who is Ms. Figg?” asked Bones from behind the group of them. Harry turned around in his chair to answer.

“Our neighbor,” said Harry. “She lives on Wisteria Way a few blocks away.”

“So you two ran all the way there?” asked Blaire. “And the attacker didn’t pursue you?

“That’s just it, I think we ran there but we took two steps and we were just there,” said Harry, his heart racing. Would they believe him? “Maybe I just forgot that we ran there or something.”

Blaire leaned forward, staring at him over her reading glasses. “I don’t believe so, Mr. Potter,” she said turning her gaze to McGonagall. “I trust you can explain accidental magic to him.”

“Of course,” McGonagall responded evenly. 

“Good,” Blaire nodded and sat back in her chair. “And once you were at Ms. Figg’s house, what happened?”

“She sucked us up her chimney and landed with your lot,” said Dudley. 

Blaire looked up from a paper in front of her, her eyebrows raised. McGonagall translated for her.

“Arabella Figg is a squib and an old friend of mine. The boys told her what had happened and she knew that if it was a Dark Wizard, she had no way to protect them. She flooed them to a secured location and contacted me.”

“Convenient that the one person they flee to has a magical connection as powerful as yourself,” said Blaire, staking the papers in front of her.

“It is quite a coincidence,” said McGonagall. Blaire scoffed at an unsaid joke and shuffled the papers in front of her.

“I say despite the tragedy, you boys are very lucky to still be alive right now. Bones, would you mind seeing if Diggle is still gawking about?”  
Bones opened the door and was immediately greeted by Diggle, who had been waiting outside the whole time.

“I would like a word with Professor McGonagall and was hoping he could take the boys,” said Blaire. 

Diggle agreed, taking one of the boys’ hands in each of his. Dudley caught a glimpse of the pile of papers in front of Blaire and saw the sketch was on top. The quill did a good job of capturing the hunger in the Mad Man’s eyes, as well as the rest of his face. 

The three of them waited outside the office in little chairs. Any hope of ease dropping quickly faded as the door was soundproof and the noise of the hall was loud enough to drown out his own thoughts. 

Dudley replayed the moments over and over again in his mind. Something still didn’t add up.

Why did he Mad Man choose them?

Why does any mad man do anything?

But he was looking for something? Money? 

No, a person. But who?

Who was the Mad Man looking for?

Not his father or mother, since they were the first people to confront the mad man.

What about him? That made no scene. He treated Dudley as a pawn for information, not the prize.

Dudley wracked his brain trying to figure out the puzzle. Dudley was never good at logic problems at school. He would just copy another kids paper or bully them into giving him the answer. 

McGonagall immerged from the office announcing they were free to leave. McGonagall took Dudley’s hand and led him to the lift. Padmore was already in the lift waiting for them. He mumbled that Jones was waiting in the lobby for them. Dudley squinted his eyes, bracing himself against the odd motion of the lift while trying to put the pieces of the mystery together. The adults knew something. They always did. He should be able to figure it out too. 

Why did the Mad Man come to their house? What did the Dursley’s have that the Mad Man couldn’t get anywhere else? Harry sneezed and suddenly it dawned on Dudley. 

“You,” whispered Dudley, as they stepped out of the lift. Harry turned toward his cousin confused. “He was looking for you.”

“Dudley, I don’t understand,” said Harry. Diggle followed behind Padmore, gently ushering the group forward. 

“The Mad Man. The one who killed my parents. He was looking for someone. He said so.” Dudley said, putting the pieces together. “The only other person in the house the Mad Man didn’t see was you.”

Harry stopped in the hall, staring at his cousin. Diggle ,who was still holding Harry’s hand, obliged and stopped with him. Harry thought for a moment dumbfounded. Then his green eyes sparked with the realization. What Dudley said was true. The Mad Man was looking for someone. Aunt Petunia warned him to stay upstairs. She wouldn’t tell the Mad Man where Harry was. The Mad Man was after Harry. 

“He was just some crazy person,” Harry tried to rationalize. “Why would he be after me?” 

“This can wait,” McGonagall hissed. She tightened her grip on Dudley’s hand, urging him to move on. She nodded to Diggle and he too tugged at Harry’s hand. 

“Probably cause your parents were wacked,” spat Dudley. His voice was rising and catching the attention of a few Ministry workers. Dudley had no idea what he was arguing but he couldn’t keep his pain in. He wanted Harry to feel his pain. Harry, who had been so cool and calm through the whole thing. Did he not feel anything for his parent’s death? Did Harry want his parents to die? “Wasn’t your dad a good-for-nothing scrounger. And I bet your mum was good-for-nothing, too.”

Harry clenched his teeth. He knew better to retaliate. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. It still didn’t stop the pain to manifest into tears.

“Your parents did themselves in in that car crash. He would be doing the world a favor to get rid of you too. “

“You take that back!” shouted Harry, tugging at Diggle’s grip. 

“Harry Potter the murderer!” shouted Dudley. The bustling crowed around them slowed to watch the quarreling cousins. “I bet it’s your fault your parents crashed their car. And it’s your fault my parents are dead. You deserved to be locked up – Harry Potter, a coward and a criminal! I hope you die!” 

Harry finally broke out of Diggle’s grip and Dudley did the same. Both boys lunged at each other, tearing and scratching anything they could grasp. 

“It’s your fault their dead!” shouted Dudley between punches. “Your fault! Your fault! Your fault!” Harry tried to argue that it wasn’t but couldn’t keep enough air in his lungs to yell. 

“Immobulus!” shouted McGonagall. Both boys stopped, unable to move. Harry tried to crane his eyes to see how McGonagall had stopped the fight but even his eyes were fixed in place. McGonagall marched right up to their ears and hissed, “This is what we were trying to avoid.” Harry was lifted up by Diggle and thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes while McGonagall used another spell to lift Dudley and hover him through the crowd. “Change of plan,” she muttered to Diggle and Padmore as she passed them. “Get them out of the open as quickly as possible before they kill each other.”

Once they arrived back at McGonagall’s cottage, she unfroze the boys. The other adults quickly excused themselves and disappeared in the fire place without leaving the hearth. McGonagall towered over them with a terrifying face that shocked them into silence. 

“Well, what do we have to say for ourselves?” she roared, her cheeks twinge red with fury. Neither boy spoke. “Well?” she snapped again, making them both jump. Harry mumbled an apology but Dudley kept his glower face on her shoes. She noticed Harry had a split lip and his glasses were sitting crooked on his nose. Dudley’s left eye started to swell and his hair was as messy as Harry’s. Lecture first, first aid second. 

“Follow me,” she barked and led the way to the library. She arranged the three chairs in the library into a circle. 

“Sit,” she barked and neither of them refused. She sat down facing the two boys, working out the wrinkles in her robe before addressing them. Normally, she had a desk in front of her but this would have to do. 

“Do either of you understand how much danger you are in?” she asked, her voice low. The boys didn’t move. 

“Harry,” she said, focusing her attention to him. Harry felt her stern gaze pierce into him. “What do you know about your parents’ deaths?”

Harry was taken aback. Wasn’t she going to scold them for their behavior?

“They died in a car crash,” Harry said. “My aunt and uncle took me in after that.” 

“Dudley, what do you know of Harry’s parents?” asked McGonagall, controlling the contempt in her voice. 

“His dad was a bum and his mum ran out on the family,” mumbled Dudley. “Dad said they came from a bad lot, and my mum would be better off an only child.” 

McGonagall closed her eyes and breathed in sharply, like a bee had just stung her. Harry knew that face; it was one that Petunia gave him on the rare occasions she tried not to yell at him, mostly when they were in public. 

“Dudley, I know that you are still processing your grief, but that is not in any way true about Lily and James Potter.”

Harry perked up at the mention of his parents name again. It was forbidden to ask question about his parents, let alone speak their name. “What were they like?” Harry asked, scooting to the edge of his chair. 

McGonagall’s features soften. “They were some of the most gifted and cleaver witch and wizard I had the pleasure of meeting.” Harry’s eyes widened. This was a side of his parents he had never heard of before. Dudley sulked in his chair.

“Before either of you were born, there was a great war in the wizarding world,” said McGonagall. “Your parents fought against the Death Eaters and saved countless people doing so. In doing so, they caught the attention of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and were targeted by the most powerful and ruthless Dark Wizard to live. They went into hiding before you were born, Harry. But –“ McGonagall cut herself off unable to finish.

“He found them,” Harry whispered. 

McGonagall nodded. “Your parents died to save you, Harry.”

Harry hadn’t noticed the tears flowing down his face but he wiped them off hoping no one noticed. “But if He-Who-Doesn’t-Have-A-Name”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named” corrected McGonagall.

“Right, him. If he was so powerful, how come…why am I…?” Harry didn’t know how to ask his question. Thankfully McGonagall seamed to understand.

“Your mother stood between you and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. When she died, her love protected you and the spell rebounded onto him.” Harry thought back to the memory. 

Not Harry, please no- take me, kill me instead!

The green light was the spell that killed Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. The same spell that killed his parents. 

“So if Man-with-no-name is dead, how is he chasing us?” said Dudley, smugly leaning forward in his chair.

“He’s not. One of his followers is,” corrected McGonagall and Dudley fell back with a plump. “Which brings me to my original point. We are trying to keep a low profile. The Wizarding world didn’t know you were back until someone went screaming your name in the heart of the Ministry.” McGonagall gave a stern look to  
Dudley who missed it entirely as he was plucking lint off his shirt. 

“What if someone who saw you today is in league with the Mad Man?” McGonagall snapped. Dudley’s face jerked up, his eyes locked with the professors. “Everyone saw that I was with you. Everyone saw that Diggle was with you! And Jones! And Padmore! Your actions have consequences and endangering the lives of people who are trying to help you would be a pretty poor way to honor both of your parents. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Harry solemnly.

“Yes,” huffed Dudley, glaring at the wall behind McGonagall. 

“So, when I say you need to be quiet, you will be quiet. If I ever tell you to run, you will run. Everything I say you will do without question because it will keep you safe. Now, go to your rooms I will be up with a first aid kit to care for the number you did to each other.” Harry scampered off immediately but Dudley stayed behind. Once Harry was gone did he scowled at McGonagall. 

“The Mad Man is after Harry not me,” said Dudley.

“But as you are family he will try and find you too,” said McGonagall. 

“But if he gets Harry, why would he come after me? I’m just saying I’m safer if he’s gone,” Dudley marched out of the room before McGonagall could respond. McGonagall drew her hands over her face and sighed. 

Merlin, why me? She thought to herself. She moved to her writing desk, unrolled a scroll for parchment and began drafting a letter.

Albus,  
I have concerns I need to discuss with you, immediately. Please respond in person.  
Minarva


End file.
